the royal gardes du corps féminin
by electrikitty
Summary: the royal bodyguard is back! when armed and dangerous girls meet charming and outrageous princes, so ensues a month of unprecedented chaos leading up to glanzreich's centennial celebrations: with espionage, subterfuge, jailbreaks, and revolutions, but by far the most dangerous is the risk of falling in love with your charge… / set after trb the next steps / irregular updates
1. The Royal Bodyguards Arrive!

**WELCOME BACK TO**

**THE WORLD OF**

**…THE ROYAL BODYGUARD…**

**So Far in the Story:**

'The Royal Bodyguard' (Completed)

'The Next Steps' (Completed)

**Yet to Come:**

'Alone Together' (TBA)

'Lavender Bullets' (TBA)

'Red Banner' (TBA)

'Shooting Stars' (TBA)

**On the Timeline: **

\- Set after the anime, and references the anime-original backstory therein.

\- Set after Volume 12 of the manga, and will continue to cover further events in the series.

\- Set after 'Chapter 70: At the End of the Trip'.

**Backstory**

Manga and anime plot information has been combined and streamlined, with the idea that the characters are continuing through the manga storyline after having learned the backstory information from the anime.

**Headcanons:**

\- (Dead!Queen) In an attempt to rationalise why the queen is barely mentioned in the series, I went this route. Volume 10, in which Adele vaguely hints that the queen is alive, was not in print at the time of writing. If the manga confirms that the queen is indeed alive, then I will rework that subplot to be canon-compliant when I edit the TRB series.

**Personal Canons**

\- (Bodyguard!Canon-Compliant AU) Bodyguards are an established part of the TRT Universe, and if a character can be one and still be canon-compliant, then it's definitely happening.

**Notes:**

\- Canon-Compliant: Yes

\- OC's: Yes

\- Warnings: Okay, we've barely started. Let's give it a while before we get into the extreme peril, suggestive themes, sustained threat, and terrible jokes. You know me well enough by now: pretty much anything goes, but I'll draw the line occasionally.

\- Spoilers: Obviously, anime spoilers. And if I ever need to include major spoilers for the manga, I'll tag that chapter with an author's note.

**TRB Project Progress:**

Once I've finished writing the TRB series, then I'll go back through and edit for series consistency and canon compliancy. Edited stories (a quick once-over) will be tagged '(Edited),' and revised stories (a massive overhaul) will one day be tagged with a '(Revised)'.

**This Story Is Dedicated To: **

AntFan

Thanks for keeping this one on the rails, out of the ditch, and (some-what) medically, historically, and militarily accurate.

**And without further ado...**

**…IT'S TIME FOR A LESSON…**

* * *

**~ Solana ~**

There it is. The symbol of an empire, set like a spray of golden bullets in broken glass, frozen in time, piercing a sky stained with winter blue. The wind explodes in my ears and I lean out of the carriage window, with my hands tangled in the rail above my head. The wheels turn like thunder; the road threatens to smash me if I fall—but I can't look away, not here, not now.

I've waited so long, after all.

A gloved hand yanks at my leg, a voice blurs with the endless stream of Gherman words and passersby. '_Solana! Be careful!_'

I ignore it and keep my eyes fixed on the horizon. My hand tightens on the railing. The carriage wheels devour the stone and we crest the bridge—Weisburg Palace explodes into colour on the horizon, overwriting every engraving and sepia photograph in my memory with a massive, sweeping stroke of a paintbrush. The skyline. The radial roads and grids like canvas. The hot sunlight glitters on a sea of rooftops, shining like a box of chocolate bars or like a crate of bars of gold. The marble and the gold and the hints of blue crystallise.

Glanzreich.

Everything I've ever done in my life was to get me here. To this bridge, this carriage, this assignment. Every country, every path, every path I razed across the Western Continent, all of it led to this moment.

I'm here.

And I slip back through the window of the carriage again. The chatter pops in my ears like an uncorked bottle of champagne: quick comments, laughter, smiles and glances, like jewels threaded and snapped into place on a necklace, bullets in the chamber of a revolver.

'And she's back!'

'Watch the holsters, please.'

'That reminds me, you double-checked that we've unloaded all the pistols?'

'The ammunition has been placed in separate boxes.'

'The guards are going to have a h_ of a time screening our luggage…'

I judge the timing and drop, landing with a solid thump in my seat and tucking my elbows so I don't hit anyone on the way down.

Elle swipes me across the head and ruffles my hair. 'Whew! When I said "break a leg," earlier, hon, I wasn't being literal, y'know!'

I look at her through half-lidded eyes, unimpressed. 'I'm well aware.'

Chiara flicks her hands out to the side and nearly hits Rin in the head. 'Oh please, who wouldn't be excited?' Beneath the charming smile, she's doing that nervous quivering thing she does, as though if touched, she'll smash into a pane of glass like a hummingbird. 'It's only the palace of the royal family of the most powerful kingdom on the Western C-Continent—'

Rin closes her eyes, and exhales. 'Chiara. I understand that you've been subsisting on coffee and studying for this assignment through the night. But you need to calm yourself before we arrive, or I will have to stab you with a comb laced with sedative poisons.'

'You mean that hairpin is poisoned?! I nearly stabbed myself with it just now—_tell me these things!_'

Verene laughs. 'All right, let's calm it down a bit. Save the hysterics for when we have cause to be hysterical, everyone'

Yulenka glances down at her. After a silence, she speaks her piece. '…Hysterics are an occupational hazard in this line of work.'

Daphne pulls up her long legs onto the carriage seat and wrenches the heel of her knee-high boot into place. She blows her ragged white hair out of her eyes with a _pwoof_. 'And so are high heels, but… ugh, we still wear them.'

I cross my arms behind my head. 'All the better for stepping on people's feet with.' But then the window pulls me in like a magnet, and I seize the window frame with both hands as we turn into the latticework of the city streets.

It hits me, flooding my bloodstream like it was lanced into my veins—the sensation of seeing a world come to life like a black-and-white photograph painted in by an artist. The never-ending rotation of carriages and streams of people, the green-and-white striped awnings, the statuesque fountains that hold court over the city, history carved out in stone. Quicksilver floods the marrow of my bones, and I shiver with eyes wide open. It's so real that I can taste it on the air—the reality of coffee, white wine, and cinnamon.

And with a sharp, scraping drift, we veer into a wide street packed with the finest of society, with boutiques and young women sampling the latest fashions, with fine restaurants filled with customers. We pass a cafe with sparkling new windows and two men with black and brown hair hanging up signs outside, and a grand cathedral—and that's when it clicks: that this is Kohl Street, one of the most upmarket streets in Wienner and a thoroughfare of the Kingdom of Glanzreich. Kohl Street is the road to the royal palace itself, a golden band set with the jewel of an empire.

I lean out the window, the wind committing crimes against my hair and laying flashes of silver over the heart of Glanzreich, Weisburg Palace. A towering edifice of ivory and gold that is home to the ruling family of Glanzreich, the fortress of a dynasty that has laid claim to being the strongest military force in this era and a force powerful enough to lead the kingdoms of the Western Continent.

And we are now in their employ. We _cannot_ stuff this one up.

The carriage takes us towards the palace gates and the scenery passes by. I slip an envelope from the bodice of my dress. Paper as rich and smooth as cream and fastened with a seal that could be made of melted gold, for all I know. I take the letter out, yet the words roll across my memory with only a glance.

_To the _Chatons de Fleur_ Agency,_

_As the king of Glanzreich, I invite you to Weisburg Palace…_

Every time, I wonder if the words were written in his own hand. And if whether learning to forge the handwriting of one of the Western Continent's most powerful kings could ever serve a purpose, admittedly. My lowered lashes shadow my vision. People always think that we sell the secrets we come across in our work, but they can assume what they wish. We merely learn everything we can because our very lives may depend on it.

_It is Glanzreich's great fortune to celebrate another one-hundred years of history, and to celebrate them in a diplomatic event to which the nations with which we have close ties will be invited. However, as much as the kingdom is also blessed with peace and with its next generation of royals—five princes and one princess—I cannot discount the fact that these celebrations will bring with them their own risk._

_Thus, after careful consideration, I would have your agency provide security for the royal family of Glanzreich, doubling both as my children's protectors and token representatives of your home countries for the month leading up to the centennial celebrations. I have reason to expect great things from you, as no doubt you yourselves expect a satisfactory outcome from this venture, for all our sakes. We look forward to working with you._

'Viktor… von Glanzreich.' I wonder if he practiced that signature five-thousand times, or if he uses a stamp.

The carriage wheels cross an invisible divide with a jolt. We've cleared Kohl Street and are sweeping into the driveway of the palace itself, a cluster of jewels at the tip of Kohl Street's sceptre.

Elle holds back the curtains, and murmurs. 'I guess this is real, isn't it?'

The palace's shadow floods the road like a tidal wave.

'More real than a bullet to the heart.'

Because it is. _Le Chatons de Fleur_—we're bodyguards to nobles and royals, we're servants of kingdoms and empires. It's so real, so crystal clear that I can see every fleck of quartz in the stone of the palace driveway, that I can feel the eyes of every single member of the audience of marble statues watching us from the roof. We've worked with many kingdoms—Fonseine, Romano, Beyer—but Glanzreich is in a class all on its own. Wealth. Influence. Military power.

Their king wreaked havoc across the Western Continent at the mere age of eighteen, then reformed his country and military into a literal force to be reckoned with. The eldest prince is a skilled diplomat and a shoo-in for the throne, even despite the rival claims of his brothers. The second eldest is a military man fit to surpass his father; the third-eldest is an internationally acclaimed and widely published scholar; the fourth eldest is wildly popular with the populace, and even the fifth youngest prince is skilled in diplomacy and engaging with other young royals. And need I mention the precious little princess, or their late queen—so popular with the Western Continent that her influence did more for the king's reforms than his armies and generals?

I close my eyes and breathe through the nerves. If royalty had class-structure… then the Von Glanzreichs would be the royalty to rule them all.

No pressure.

My jaw locks into a smile, biting down hard. But pray tell, what personal protection service agency gets to say that they've worked hand-in-hand with the royals of the Kingdom of Glanzreich, after all?

My fingernails bite a row of crescent moons on my palm. Fierce.

No one. Yet. And that changes today.

We all exchange glances. Armed, dangerous, ready to go in our high heels and chosen attire.

I glance around the carriage. Then say. '_Carpe diem, dominarium._'

Everyone cracks a smile.

_Seize the day, girls._

And I seize the door handle, stepping onto the pavement with a decisive crack.

The rest of the Chatons spill out of the carriage. We're the collective best of what our agency has to offer—bar two who will be arriving tomorrow. I turn and get my bearings. The scene is enough to make you dizzy, enough to make your head spin as you tip your head back to sight the palace's tallest spires. An ornate tableau of exquisitely carved statues and stonework, a froth of black iron curlicues that comprise the gates, a gleam of gold and mint-aqua that adorns the dome atop the palace like a crown.

'…_Uff_, I can't believe people live here!' Chiara stammers. '…People do live here, right?'

'Maybe,' Daphne says. 'Well.' She points in multiple directions, and I follow her line of sight. 'The royal family certainly lives here, yes, but the palace has about eight different wings. One for each family member, come to think of it.' Born and bred in Glanzreich, Daphne may as well walk around with a sign around her neck, and be our tour guide and purveyor of random trivia for the month. Sarcasm aside, her knowledge is an advantage that I'm not going to waste.

'…Superb. Just as long as they don't expect us to sleep in the kennels.'

Elle flaps a hand dismissively. 'What kennels? The palace dog probably has its own wing.'

I do a quick headcount. The carriage that followed us with our luggage and belongings has safely made it and is pulling up behind our own ride as we speak. 'So?' I tip my head in the direction of the palace, and hold out a hand. I'd even almost smile, if I was the type. If I wasn't wired enough to burn out every fuse. 'Let's go make history.'

And we cross the cobblestones of Weisburg's driveway. The wind bites my face. I taste coffee and water on the air, and I have to tell myself that we're no longer planning this—we've flipped the switch and we're actually _doing_ it.

Right. No pressure.

I square my shoulders and keep walking. It's simple: gates, and guards who have been told to expect us and should let us through with minimal fuss and complications. One would hope.

I'm already weighing the guards up as we draw near: two men dressed in the formal military uniform of red and black and gold braid, and armed with ornamental halberds.

Elle lifts an eyebrow and remarks, 'Wow. Eye candy before we even get in the gates. Colour me happy.'

I blink. Then drive a hand into her corset stays and hiss, 'You have neither taste nor discretion.'

'I object to both claims and vote wholeheartedly in favour of taking night watch shifts. You'll know where to find me.' As unsubtle as a Columbian can be, but she's not an idiot. She's not so much eyeing the guards as she is weighing them up.

I hold up a hand, and don't slow my pace. 'All right, everyone shut up now, thanks.'

'I am already shut up,' Rin mutters.

'I-It—' I shoot a glare over my shoulder. 'It was a catch-all. Ladies, _please_. We are not starting out like this.'

'All right, girls, be good,' Elle says cheerfully.

'Be good yourself.'

This the problem when you're working with young and talented people. They're _young_, and behind the scenes, they've got too much baggage and they're too many hairpins short of a hairdo. I rub my forehead and sigh. At least we're not the only ones. Our royal charges are often a few jewels short of a crown… but it's not as though these princes could be worse than us behind the facades, right?

I turn back around and take stock of the upcoming situation. Like their uniforms, the guards' weapons aren't a subtle choice either. Good for shooing away stray civilians, I suppose, if any unsuspecting trespassers managed to miss that garish shade of red—

'Ugh, this post is so _dull_! I'm dying here!'

'This is a sacred post and if you don't like it then I'll throw you in front of the next carriage—so get a hold of yourself, Maximilian!'

_'_…Eh.' _It seems that they're impossible to miss on both the audio _and_ visual fronts._

The guard named Maximilian leans on his halberd and nearly topples it, then sighs once he's got his balance. 'Cold, Ludwig! But seriously—doesn't it seem as though whenever we start wishing that something would happen around here, someone appears to spice things up a bit?'

'When _you_ start wishing—and I told you just five minutes ago that we're expecting important guests to the palace to arrive within the hour!'

'Really? Well, jinx in advance! … Who were they again?'

We're close enough that I can wave my hand in an ambiguous gesture and say, 'Jinx indeed. Good day.'

They snap to attention, setting us on equal ground. 'Good day to you too.' Between piercing blue eyes and the kind of haircut you end up with after years at military academy, the guard leading the conversation—the one named Ludwig— is definitely the one I should be paying attention to. 'Do you have business with the palace?' he asks.

'Indeed. The Chatons of Fleur, at the king's service.'

Ludwig nods. 'Oh, very good.' Then he does a double take, and the other guard blurts out—

'Wait — you're girls!?'

Well, that's what I've been told all my life—and I assume I would have noticed if I'd woken up as a member of the opposite sex this morning.

Rin whispers in my ear. 'Did they not read what was on the packet?'

'You mean packaging, and probably not.' Although given that the guard querying looks like he washes his hair in pink paint, I'm inclined to believe that the chemicals must have adversely affected his mental faculties.

I clear my throat. 'Compliments to your optometrist on your powers of observation, gentlemen, but—'

The pink-haired idiot grins. 'Thank you!'

'—but I was under the impression that the palace generally knew what to expect. Also…' I grimace and say, 'Haven't we met? In Fleur?'

'You met these good looking twentysomethings when, exactly?' Elle mutters out of the side of her mouth.

'Long story. And keep it to yourself.'

Let's just say that royals—especially Viktor von Glanzreich, God of War who Conquered the Western Continent—shouldn't be allowed to wander around in public and scare the stuffing out of random girls in Fleur who were just trying to get home from work.

The other guard, Ludwig, the one I am currently inclined to like because he's less of an idiot than his companion, pulls the other guard out of the way and sighs. 'My apologies, Maximilian is always like that. And we have indeed met, and it's a pleasure to meet again. We were also certainly expecting the princes' new guards this morning, but we assumed that they would be…' His brow creases. '…Older? Or something of the sort?'

Then Maximilian snaps his fingers, saying, 'Come on, Ludwig, get a clue! These young ladies must be the princes' latest batch of hopefuls vying for an audience!'

To his credit, after having spoken with kings and consorts and people of every rank and station in between, very few people can strike me speechless and this pink-haired idiot is now one of the ranks.

Daphne rocks back and forth on her feels, opens her mouth, rests a hand on the sheathed rapier hanging from her waist, then takes her hand off again and sighs. She looks like an irritated puppy dog.

'…Sorry, gentlemen,' I say, 'but you're a tad off the mark. We've found that younger staff members are better equipped to work with younger clients.' I hold out the letter of invitation written presumably in the king's own hand and splashed with gold wax. 'We're actually—'

Maximilian smacks a hand to his forehead. 'Oh my gosh, my mistake! You've already got clearance? Then you must be the princes' latest batch of girlfriends and you've—cripes, I didn't think His Majesty signed off on stuff like this—got written permission? Fantastic!'

'This bodes ill on many levels,' Yulenka mutters.

'_Omae wa atama ga warui deshita_.'

'I have no idea what you just said, Rin, but I concur wholeheartedly with both of you,' I say.

Ludwig delivers a violent stab to his partner's ribs with one hand, chiding, 'Will you stop!?' and I make a mental note to ask him about his technique later. He gives us a once-over, then sighs and glances up at the palace walls. 'Perhaps I better just get Prince Licht down here to sort this out. It's like trying to herd a passel of cats…'

I exhale and count backwards from ten while saying, 'Look, you're very well-intentioned and I'm sorry if our arrival upset the proverbial apple cart of day-to-day affairs, but we are _literally_ the Chatons de Fleur and—'

'Pardon the interruption.'

The sharp clicking of high-heeled boots echoes through the darkened stone arch of the gates. Past the guards' shoulders, I catch flickers of a coat billowing in the wind. 'I apologise for any delay…'

And a new arrival steps between the guards, dressed in academic robes and gifted with the most expressive pair of eyes I've ever seen.

'And if you'd pardon protocol for a moment…' He touches the letter in my hand with a fingertip and brings it down to his eye level, looking the thing over in an instant and reading it in its entirety _upside down_, before nodding and taking a step back.

He clicks his heels together and rests one hand against his chest, then offers us a formal bow, one that effuses the type of sophistication born of living your life in a role that you were made for. 'My name is Heine Wittgenstein, royal tutor to the princes of the kingdom of Glanzreich.' He looks up and holds out a hand with each finger articulate. He doesn't smile, yet his expression softens slightly. 'On behalf of the royal family, welcome to Weisburg Palace.'

He's also, to put it bluntly, pint-sized.

'A kid professor? _Uff_, this kingdom is on another _maledetto _level…' Chiara stammers.

He stiffens so quickly that I swear I hear his spine crack. '_I am not a_—' He stops, as though someone just cast ice water on him. He exhales and adjusts his glasses. 'Despite all appearances to the contrary, I am a full. Grown. _Adult._' He clears his throat and regains his composure. 'Despite all appearances to the contrary.'

I raise my hands. 'Duly noted. A pleasure to meet you.'

'Oh?' Elle leans down, entranced. 'But the wittle darling's so cuuute—' but I ram an elbow into her solar plexus before she can truly get going.

'My apologies also,' I add, ignoring Chiara's flustered fidgeting at my shoulder.

'Not at all,' Professor Heine replies. 'It seems to literally have become a standard part of the usual introductions.' He rests one hand on his hip and gestures between the two of us, a quiet flick with no movement wasted. 'It seems, however, that we are in the same boat…' He pauses to cast an irritated glance at the two guards at his back. '…In that we've both been subjected to an unfortunate case of being judged by appearances, no? Maximilian, Ludwig, they are indeed the literal Chatons de Fleur. Kindly bid us godspeed and let us be on our way?'

The guards blink. Then throw themselves face-first on the cobblestones with a horrific noise that likely wasn't good for their kneecaps, yelling, '_A thousand apologies, madams!_'

We stare at them. I can see Verene itching to poke one of them with the toe of her boot, as though to ascertain whether they're still alive.

'…Not at all,' I finally say. Considering that once I got in a fight with some self-entitled palace guards before I could even get in a palace's gates once, this debacle is a mere hiccup. 'Apologies for the… confusion. Good day. And can I just enquire as to what is to become of our luggage?'

And they're back on their feet in an instant, flanking the gate on either side and offering us passage. 'It will be screened by the Royal Guard and delivered to your rooms within the day, madams. Also, we'll check your papers and your weapons-bearing status, if you would permit it.'

And we hand over our papers for a cursory check against the palace's records—to ensure that we really are who we say we are and all of that, given our… age. We also state and declare what weapons we have on our person, and get permits to bear arms on the premises.

It's laughably stupid. I mask a smirk with a grimace. The only member of the royal family who doesn't permit people outside the Royal Guard to bear arms in his presence is His Majesty the King. The king is so skilled with weapons and warfare that he could very well disarm someone with a touch. Whereas those who _do_ permit arms in their presence are either young, or women, and both parties are typically untrained and in need of protection when it comes to protecting themselves.

But I'm not complaining, because there's money in it—even if the "it" is a staggering amount of royal naivety. I narrow my eyes. And that's what's curious, too.

Why is Viktor von Glanzreich, the god of war and commander-in-chief of the Western Continent's strongest army, bothering with a third-party personal protection agency staffed by women?

I shake my head. It's only day one. Some things are going to have to wait.

On seeing that we've wrapped up organising our affairs, Professor Heine draws his coat about himself and says, 'And I've been sent to escort you to your meeting with the princes, as well as to welcome you to the palace.' His eyes look like amber in the dark. 'So? Shall we begin?'

'We'd be delighted.'

And we follow the little professor through the gates, into one of the most infamous palaces of the Western Continent.

I keep my eyes on our guide's shoulders. But between walking through the dark and listening to the whispers of my girls, I can't help but feel a sudden, brief firework of excitement.

This is it. Everything has led to this. I press a hand to my bodice, to the copper wire ring that I know lies beneath my dress, strung on a chain.

I'm doing this for the Chatons. I'm doing this for a lot of reasons. But one of those reasons is myself. I wouldn't call it anything as noble as a promise, or as generic as a personal goal—it's more like a vendetta. More like pins and a string across a map, across the Western Continent.

More like someone I've sworn to find.

I look back to see the gates slowly swinging shot under the hands of the guards. Maximilian catches my eye, and slings his halberd across his shoulder with a grin, a wink, and a wave. 'Welcome to the madhouse, girls!'

'_All right, that's enough_—a thousand push ups for that attitude of yours, now!' Ludwig barks.

I lift a hand, in farewell and casual salute. I've learned a lot over the years, but one of those things is that you can never tell whether you'll enjoy your stay somewhere before you go. But I know that I'll always exploit every loophole and facet of a place until the day I pack my things and depart.

And the gates slam shut.

_To be continued in Chapter 2: A Round of Introductions…_

* * *

**A/N: **GUYS IT JUST HAPPENED THE SEQUEL HAS OFFICIALLY LANDED AND IT IS HERE SO HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ONE AND ALL.

Explosion of pent-up excitement aside, 2020 is going to be *the* year for The Royal Bodyguard series: I've got 12 chapters of the story lined up so far, not to mention some fan-art and one-shot related projects coming up! I'll be playing the long-game on this one (irregular updates, semi-frequent, multi-arc storyline, sorry guys), but I hope you stick around and enjoy the ride!

Also... YES I DREW THE COVER ART. *jazz hands*

Reviews welcome (always), thanks for reading yet again, and see you soon!


	2. A Round of Introductions

**~Solana~**

'I trust you had safe travels from Fleur?' the little professor asks.

The small talk is stable ground after our rocky start, so I engage. 'Yes. We travelled in by train and came the rest of the way by carriage.'

'I see. And have any of you been to Glanzreich before?'

'I haven't.'

Understatement. Of the century.

I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and say, 'But Daphne has, so she's our resident expert.'

At the back of our group, Daphne awkwardly puts her hand up. 'Hi, that's me. And I'm not really an expert, I just used to… live here.'

Professor Heine nods. 'In that case,' he says, 'you'll all be given ample opportunity to familiarise yourself with both the palace and the palace's immediate surroundings.'

Sunlight burns the edges of the arch, and we walk through into glittering daylight. I shield my eyes until they adjust, then lower my hand.

'…It seems there's an abundance to familiarise oneself with,' I say, looking around at the walls of windows towering overhead and the larger-than-life statues that hold court over the carriages currently on the internal drive.

'It's certainly a lot to take in,' Professor Heine says. 'I would recommend starting small and you'll pick up the rest as you go along.'

He leads us up a marble staircase to a set of doors, and I ask, 'Is the first order of business meeting with the princes?'

By the odd look that flashes across his face, I get the impression that you would not classify the princes as 'starting small,' yet that's the end of the pool we're diving into nonetheless. 'Correct.'

The doors swing open in perfect silence, and we step into another world.

Someone whistles. I'm too reluctantly impressed to single out the offender.

The marble hall has more than five times the floorspace of my bedchamber. A staircase sweeps from one storey to the next, creating an underpass that shelters half a dozen rooms. The chandeliers glitter, the wallpaper glistens, and the maids and footmen tastefully dotted about the landscape probably earn more in a couple of hours than your average person off the street earns in a year.

And this is just one hallway.

'Floor plans,' I manage to choke out. 'I think that perhaps floor plans would be conducive to getting a handle on the layout.'

We follow Professor Heine up the staircase, and he talks over his shoulder as we walk. 'An excellent idea. In reality, it won't take you long to find your way around, and you can waylay any of the staff if you require further assistance.'

We step onto the landing, our shoes clicking their way down an empty marble corridor. Empty but for two guards stationed outside a golden door that seems to be stealing all the air from the room.

Professor Heine draws to a halt, and holds out a hand to the door. 'The princes are waiting inside. I'll be leaving them in your care, as will the rest of the palace for the duration of your stay. On behalf of Weisburg Palace, we look forward to working with you.'

I bow. 'It is an honour.'

We all look at the doors.

I steel myself, and rest my hands on the doorhandles. I almost expected them to speak. They don't, but they give off a metallic chill.

The royal family has everything riding on this working out. That's fine. So do we.

Our reputations, our futures, our honour, our dreams, and lest we forget the most necessary thing of all—payment for a job well done—all of it rests on this assignment, on protecting the royal family's lives. And if we fail, we may as well take a dive off the palace's tallest spire, because if we aren't executed by the king or by the people of the kingdom, then the shame of failing will destroy the Chatons from the inside out and leave us all dead in the rubble.

And I'll never find _him_.

I clench my jaw against the fizzing quicksilver that threads through every vein, exhale, and push the doors open.

They creak, spilling faded light into a room full of shadows. Four silhouettes are framed against the windows. Living portraits veiled from view, actors waiting for the curtain to rise.

Heaven knows how, but I walk forward. My shoes click over an intricate pattern of marble tiles. I stop before them. My heart hammers, but I refuse to acknowledge it. The other Chatons take their places in a row behind me, and Professor Heine slips in behind us, standing off quietly to the side. We'll be receiving no hand-holding from him.

Good. That's the way I like it.

All that matters right now is this singular greeting, the words recited from a Chaton to any client. I gather the folds of my dress into my fingertips, and dip into a curtsey. 'Greetings. If it is your desire, I will go anywhere for you. I am of the Chatons de Fleur and my name is Solana de la Roux. I am at your service and will remain by your side.'

That used to be the entirety of the greeting—but I changed it, for all of us, determining to never forsake someone the way that we were all forsaken. I lift my head and meet the princes' gazes. 'I will _not_ fail you.'

And the windows slam open.

A windstorm explodes in the room, and I've already dropped into a defensive crouch on instinct, one second away from drawing a knife. '_C'est qu—!?_'

I grit my teeth and open my eyes against the blinding light… as the wind dies, leaving feathers scattered over the floor, lightly swirling the curtains in the breeze.

A movement, and I stop with one arm still up to guard my face. I lower one knee to a more socially acceptable bow and lower my arm.

The four princes of Glanzreich each hold out a hand with a smile, all of them so dazzling and glittery that I nearly topple over on the spot. 'Welcome to Weisburg Palace!'

…I can't believe I was literally just floored by that entrance. And no reference to said flashy entrance just now? Okay.

I lift an eyebrow. I guess this must just be how they roll. I swiftly get to my feet, ignore the wish that I was a little taller, and say, 'It is a pleasure, Your Highnesses—'

Then one of them takes my hand.

Blue eyes, bluer than the waters of the South of Fonseine. Blond hair that falls in perfect pieces like the hairstyle of a handcrafted doll. A complexion that girls would kill to have, and what a smile…

And I don't even consider myself susceptible to the charms of appearance. I think this otherworldly level of beauty requires a new adjective in the dictionary.

Oh, and then he talks. 'The pleasure is mine,' he says warmly. 'I'm enchanted.'

Then he drops my hand and places a hand on his hip. 'Okay, enough.'

He clicks his fingers, and the mood freezes.

…My hand is still hanging in the air like a figurehead's appendage.

The prince turns his back and stalks to the window, elegantly taking a seat on the window frame as though it were a gilded throne. He leans forward. His hair falls to frame his face like twin golden knives. 'This is the part where we all rattle off our names and pretend as though we actually give a d_ about this circus act, is that correct?'

_Oh no. Oh h_ no._ My heart rate spikes, and I risk a glance at Professor Heine out of the corner of my eye—who watches with reserve and nothing more. _This… this is normal? I know that sooner or later all our clients drop the act—but like this!?_

'…Yes?' I finally say.

The prince sighs, and stretches, lacing his fingers together and limbering up his joints. 'I thought so. Fine.' He licks his lips. I must have been imagining it when I thought his eyes were wide and angelic. They're narrowed like the crack between a sheath and a sword about to be drawn. 'My name is Leonhard von Glanzreich, fourth prince of the Kingdom of Glanzreich. And I don't care if the king or queen or the pope selected your ragtag ensemble of commoners for this position—my brothers and I have burned through every noteworthy personal guard from across the kingdom and the idea of doing this song and dance again is enough to make me _sick_.' He elegantly gestures with one finger to make his point. 'So if this is going to be more of the same, you can take the next carriage out and it can crash into the nearest fence for all I care. _Understood?_'

Lord save us. The Eiffel Tower is going to look like a sewing needle beside this boy's pride once it's built.

'Understood, Your Highness—' I purse my lips and give him an even look, '— but not accepted.'

He shrugs with a grin that's polished white with toothpaste flavoured with pure infuriation. 'That's fine. You don't have to _accept_ your inevitable defeat, but—'

'Oh yeah, baby—jackpot! You're all so cute~!' And I'm swept right off my feet without a warning.

I let out a startled gasp. '_C'est quoi ça?!_'

And I'm spun in a waltz to face a prince with waist-length blond hair that would make any girl jealous. He kisses me on the cheek before I barely have time to note that he looks as though he merely threw on his clothes after running out of a boudoir. 'We get to work with you lovely ladies for a whole month? Colour me charmed _and _turned on, and every other colour in the rainbow!' He pauses, his breath sending a shiver down my spine, and gives me a smile that could seduce a statue. '_Enchanté_.'

'Your accent could use some work—'

'_LICHT!_' Prince Leonhard hauls his brother off me like one would yank a wayward puppy back by the leash. '_Verdammt noch mal in die Hölle_—do you have to interrupt me every single _time_!? I swear, one day I'm doing to strangle you with that hair of yours!'

'Ow, ow, ow—okay, mercy, _please!' _

Prince Licht finally frees himself, and dusts off his trousers. 'Well, I suppose some introductions are in order, am I right?' He jerks his thumbs towards himself with a grin and says, 'I'm Prince Licht von Glanzreich, fourth prince of the realm, loved by ladies all over the Western Continent, and too good for this world. It is a _pleasure_ to make all your acquaintances, girls.' He wraps up his spiel by blowing us a kiss.

I flinch, and I think every single one of us are collectively praying to God and the Virgin Mary and all manner of saints and Yapanese forest spirits that we don't end up as _this_ prince's bodyguard.

'…Likewise,' I finally say. _Not! _my internal voice shrieks.

'Hey, about that!' Prince Leonhard indicates us all in a sweeping gesture that nearly takes his brother's head off and says, 'Why the h_ did we get sent a bunch of _girls_?'

I blink. 'Pardon? I thought Your Highnesses were aware that—'

'No, we weren't!' Prince Leonhard snaps. 'We barely even finished sending away the last lot!'

A chill trickles down my spine. _You were right, Yulenka. This bodes very ill._

'And _besides_,' he continues. 'Do we look like we want to waste our time on the specifics of lot number two-hundred and twenty-three?'

'…No, you don't.'

'Exactly, thank you. It's beneath our notice.' He crosses his arms and complains, 'And besides. Our bodyguards up until now were just extras. Cannon fodder. But now we're up to the important stuff—and if all the guards we've had so far were next to useless, how do you come to conclusion that a bunch of girls could do any better? Ridiculous!'

I stiffen. Oh no, he did not just… 'Prince — '

'Oh come _on_, Leo,' Prince Licht chides, tempering his younger brother's hissing and spitting with a caress and a teasing smile. 'You're taking issue with a 'bunch of girls' moving into the palace? I for one can't care either way, but am delighted and ecstatic that at least if these hopefuls last a couple of days then we'll have something nice to look at in the meantime.'

_Ugh. I can't. Someone shoot me now— _

And out of nowhere, Prince Licht is walloped across the head and sent tumbling into a dishevelled blond pile at my feet.

'_ENOUGH!_'

'Oh boy,' Licht mutters. 'Didn't even see it coming this time; I'm losing my touch.'

My head snaps up to see another prince rest a hardback book on his shoulder like a sword, said book having a significant dent in the cover. He glares at Leonhard and Licht in turn. 'I thought the two of you might have matured somewhat over the last year, but your gross inability to engage in social interaction is yet unrivalled.' He sighs and turns, saying, 'Leonhard, would you—'

Prince Leonhard swipes a finger over his lips and stands at attention. 'Shutting up right now, dearest big brother Bruno!' And he tackles Prince Bruno from behind with a laugh, hooking his arms around his brother's neck in a rather energetic hug.

Elle winces. 'Please don't tell me that one of us is going to have to manage both Prince Jekyll and Prince Hyde. The last case we had to deal with was a headache.'

'I think we're going to have to deal with every personality disorder in the book here,' I say, and purse my lips back into a neutral expression

'Oof.' Prince Bruno regains his balance and gives me a smile. 'My apologies for my younger brothers' theatrics. I am Prince Bruno von Glanzreich, the third prince.'

Between his pleasant demeanour and his appearance—polished silver glasses and a thatch of wavy brown hair—it seems that there's a sane one among them and I'm quite relieved to see it. 'A pleasure, Your Highness.'

Prince Bruno staggers, trying to dislodge Prince Leonhard, and gestures in the direction of the remaining prince, who has stood in silence like a pillar this whole time. 'And this the second-eldest prince—Leonhard, I can't breathe—otherwise known as Prince Kai.'

We all turn in Prince Kai's direction.

He freezes. After a long pause, he looks up. Murder glints in an eye drawn in a cold slash, beneath hair that looks like it's been torn up by claws. 'Ni… Knife…'

Someone muffles a shriek behind me. 'Knife!?'

'Nife… Nife to…' He hesitates, then looks up again. He blushes faintly and tries to smile. 'Nice to meet you.'

Wonderful. All of us are going to be too busy being terrified or too busy squeeing over him to work with him. _Fantastic._

'Well, you've had the honour of meeting us,' Prince Leonhard says, having gotten off Prince Bruno and assumed a haughty pose with enough elbow room to gesture. 'And now, normally, we would tell you all to get lost and promise to have you kicked out within the day. But…' He runs a hand through his hair. His smile has a hint of irony to it. 'We're not quite that terrible now.'

Professor Heine coughs.

I raise an eyebrow. 'What a shame that we're only forming an acquaintance now; we've missed out on the opportunity to confirm that statement for ourselves.'

Prince Licht laughs. 'Yikes, Leo—she got dancy on you! _Burn!_'

Prince Leonhard pushes him away and sighs. 'Enough, Licht. Look, my point is that out of the kindness of our hearts, we're going to do this differently and give you all a fair chance. What you do with it is up to you.'

'How generous.'

'I know, thanks. So show us what you've got.'

I blink. Behind me, I hear the faint noises of the Chatons whispering to each other. _Show you what we've got?_ 'Pardon?'

He pads over and stands before me, face to face. 'Show us you've got what it takes to be here. I'm not inclined to believe that you're any different from the guards we've had before, but…' He tips his head, staring into my eyes. 'But you never know until you try.'

He steps back and punches his open palm, the crack neatly dividing the room in two. 'It's a simple proposition. Sell it to us—prove your worth within a day, or we'll have our father send you back to Fleur.'

He can't be serious. I know that His Majesty is paying proper money for this—our contract is for an entire _month_. Four sub-payments in weekly instalments… My eyes widen. Oh. Oh no. _Four sub-payments in weekly instalments with the _real_ pay check being handed over on the successful completion of the job._ Which means that any one of these royal brats could have 'father dearest' send us to the dungeons whenever it takes their fancy…

But surely the king won't throw the contract just because his boys throw a temper tantrum—

Prince Licht circles me from my blindside, leaning down with a sly smile. 'You were just thinking that our father wouldn't waste the kingdom's tax dollars on this, weren't you?'

'…No, I wasn't—'

He pats me on the head. 'Clever girl. Because let's be real—our family is made of gold. One of these _doorknobs_ could probably pay your wages. You are one of many, many, many others that have come before you.' He narrows his eyes. 'And sweetheart, none of them lasted very long.'

I purse my lips, my own eyes narrowing. 'I wonder why…'

'Gee, I wonder too.'

Prince Bruno leans against the wall, his book under one arm and an unreadable expression on his face. 'I am more willing to entertain this venture, out of respect for my father and for you yourselves as supposed professionals. But Licht is also correct. Our personal guards to date have ranged from tolerable to unsatisfactory, and that was merely in day-to-day affairs, let alone things of significance such as the centennial celebrations. As of yet, I am unconvinced that _you_… can effectively ensure our safety. You are replaceable, and I would like to see that this is going to be worthwhile before investing any time and effort into you.'

The room frosts over.

I mentally finish the sentence. _…Because you're all girls and the idea that a woman can do a man's job better is frankly quite bizarre, and also, I'm the academic type that has a general dislike and/or disinterest in the fairer sex, blah, blah, blah. Blah._

I glance at Prince Kai, hoping that perhaps he might pull something out of the bag. He merely gives us a sympathetic look and says nothing.

Prince Leonhard's lips quirk into a grin and my eyes snap back to the threat before me. His breath tastes like chocolate, with a hint of sugar. 'So? Are you going to take us up on our offer, or are you going to take your belongings and go home crying?'

...Well, this is all shot to bits right out of the gate.

I stare at him, my mind racing at a mile a minute. My eyes flick back over my shoulder at the Chatons. At Professor Heine. At each of the princes.

'What's your answer, _Solaya_?'

I tilt my chin up. Then snap words together and build into rapid-fire Gherman. 'It's _Solana_. And we say that we aren't going anywhere. I have to admire your tenacity—but we've worked with royals and nobles throughout the Western Continent, and if we were going to run home crying then it would have been after doing a stint in the Romano palace. You wish to try us by fire? Fine. We will prove ourselves with pleasure, but just try not to set yourselves alight. We will not run, and we will not cry, and it would be my greatest pleasure to make you eat your words… Your Royal Highness Prince Leonhard.' Sparks spill from the very air between us, electricity crackling in vibrating lines, a small smirk on my face and a shameless one on his. '_It is on_.'

And to strike while the iron is hot, I pull a folder out and snap it open. 'Right. Brass tacks. The Chatons de Fleur personal protection agency has been tasked with guarding your family's health and well-being for the month leading up to and the time during the kingdom's centennial celebrations.' I hold up the folder. 'We're all pairing up. Brace yourselves.'

'_What!?_'

'Welcome to the real world and enjoy your stay.' I fold the folder in two, standing my ground. 'Sorry to disappoint you, but unlike your former guards, we're not wallpaper or for decoration. Blending in effectively means that we have to be in the middle of everything with you, whether that means doubling as companions, assistants, acquaintances, or whatever is required to make this work. And that means _partnership_, not floating around the periphery.'

I look around the room, and hold up the folder. 'These pairings have already been pre-approved and are virtually set in stone. They are not up for discussion. We'll also be taking preparatory interviews with our respective partners—'

Prince Leonhard steps back as though I just said that I steep my tea leaves in the blood of innocents. 'Wait… interviews? Those wouldn't involve "tests" of some kind, would they…?'

I mask a confused look because _how the h_ did he know_, and lift the folder a little, hiding the pages from view. 'A simple question-and-answer interview, to measure the compatibility of both persons—'

Leonhard's eyes and lips narrow to slits. 'In other words, a competency test?'

'Um—'

'I can't believe you—how could you—_you commoners are all the same!_' he shrieks.

I stare at him in bewilderment. '…I'm sorry, who _gepisst_ in your melange?'

'_Excuse me!?_'

'Wow, déjà vu…' Licht says warily. 'On multiple levels.'

I flip the page over and hold up a warning finger to all of them. 'If I may?' Then I start on reading the list of names aloud, setting this massive mess of clockwork in motion.

'Leonhard von Glanzreich and Solana de la Roux.'

And I tap the folder against the prince's chest, finally tipping my hand. 'Let's get along, shall we?'

I was not thrilled to clash so dramatically with my charge right out of the gate, let's put it that way.

He blinks. A very pretty, very stunned statue. Then a heartbeat later he explodes. 'Are you _kidding_ me!?'

'Trust me, I'm simply beside myself with excitement as well.' Then I pivot—because if the prince explodes for _real_, then I figure I better have my back to the source of the explosion. 'Next. Licht von Glanzreich and Elle Satinwood!'

Elle blinks, then shakes herself awake like a sleepy burrowing owl. 'Oh, that's me.' She strolls over with a lazy smile. She turns heads like always; she looks good and she knows it. She takes her place beside Prince Licht—the two of them look like matching dolls with their golden tresses. They'll probably get along like a d_ house on fire.

Licht sighs, yet his grin is contagious.'And I'm going to be stuck in the company of this lovely angel for the better part of a month? Ah, life is so hard…'

'You poor thing,' she croons, and I feel like shoving them both behind a folding screen. 'I could make you feel better about it, you know — '

'Save it for your interview!' I bark, and find the next set of names.

'Bruno von Glanzreich and Chiara Silvestri!'

'Y-Yes!' Chiara yips, and joins Prince Bruno as fast as her legs will permit. 'It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Prince. I-I've read your work!'

That gets some semblance of interest out of him, and he pushes up his glasses. 'Oh? How did you find it? Are you of an academic background yourself, or…?'

'A-Ah, well, uh…!'

'Next! Kai von Glanzreich and Daphne Dänot!'

Daphe steps past me, a dangerously tall pair of stilettos putting her already impressive height put on the same playing field as Prince Kai. 'A pleasure, Prince. I'll do my best.' She rakes her hands through her hair, and now I see why she said she often drew comparisons to Prince Kai when she lived in Glanzreich—her ragged white hair and lean, lanky build means they could almost be twins.

Kai nods. 'Mm.'

'And next: Eins von Glanzreich and Yulenka Motkovic! Yulenka, you will be travelling to Prince Eins' personal residence, Schwarz Palace. We've been told that a member of Schwarz's household will be personally escorting you there.'

Yulenka—bookending the group like an ebony rook on a chessboard—bows with her skirts sweeping the floor. Even with her hair tied up and her attire being a plain black gown, she's just as stunning as Elle, even more so because of her untouchable demeanour. 'It is an honour, Your Highnesses.'

'Next: Adele von Glanzreich and Rinako Kimura!' I glance at my notes, then say, 'Rin, you will be introducing yourself to Princess Adele in your private meeting, as the princess is exempt from participating in formal scenarios such as these due to her age.'

Rin nods, then turns to the princes and bows formally with her arms at her sides. After a moment, she straightens and tips up the brim of her hat, with care for any weapons hidden underneath. 'It is my great privilege, Highnesses. Let's get along.' If her feline, jet-black eyes and beige skin didn't give her nationality away, her lyrical Oriental accent does. Prince Leonhard's eyes widen and Prince Bruno's eyebrows shoot up. But even a reaction as mild as that is to be expected, given how little the worlds of the Western and Eastern Continents overlap.

I go to close the folder, only for Prince Leonhard take hold of it and stab the page with a finger. 'Wait, didn't you miss one?'

'No, I did not.' I hold out a hand and say, 'This is Verene Pussler, the literal spare in the adage, "always carry a spare." She'll be on hand to run messages, coordinate affairs, and is our all-around talented and lovely errand girl.'

Verene looks up from putting up her wave of red curls for the nth time this day. She gives us a smile. 'Charmed, I'm sure. I'm the team's jill-of-all-trades, as it were.'

'Jill? I thought you said your name was Verena,' Leonhard says, looking confused.

'Verene,' I correct.

'I thought _that _one over there was Verene.'

'That one is Daphne—for St. Peter's sake, we just spent the better part of ten minutes introducing ourselves!'

He flails one arm in exasperation. 'All right, all right! Someone better write all that down because I'm not going to remember a word of it!'

'Prince…'

'I could write up a name chart?' Verene offers.

'Yes—'

'No!' I protest. 'Don't make it easy for him!'

'I'll tell you an easy way to get us to learn your names, girls,' Licht offers. My eyes widen in horror as he says, 'Just write them on your—'

'_Licht!_' Bruno hauls Licht away and slaps a gloved hand over his brother's mouth. 'I specifically told you to leave your appalling manners back in your chambers, you blithering fool!'

My mouth seems to have fallen open somewhere in the last couple of minutes. I quickly snap it shut, snapping the folder shut as well. 'And that is the end of it. The Chatons' director will be arriving tomorrow after finalising affairs at the Chatons' agency.'

Prince Leonhard places his hands on his hips and says, 'Provided we don't kick you out, or she'll be collecting you pathetic kittens from a cardboard box out on the street.'

I narrow my eyes. I'd almost forgotten about his demand—that we prove our worth or be evicted from the palace. My patience is wearing thin, and I phrase my words with as much delicacy as my frame of mind will permit. 'Congratulations, you know that _chaton _means _kitten_ in Fonsein, and used it in a sentence and everything. Gold star for you.'

Horrified whispers explode at my back. And I realise that I my brain had yet to catch up with my mouth. I got more than merely carried away—I may have just signed my death warrant in a retaliatory fit of temper.

But the prince merely grins. 'Thanks! I've nearly mastered the Fonseine language! Not bad, huh?'

I stare at him. Prince Bruno coughs. Prince Licht suppresses silent laughter. 'Wonderful, Prince,' I say. 'Once you've mastered _modesty_, try learning the language of _sarcasm_.'

He stops, and his eyes narrow in return. 'Wait a minute… Anyway, you're trying to change the subject!' He smirks, and a deadly glint lights his eyes. 'You can play around with your little clipboard all you want, but it can't change the facts.'

Prince Leonhard steps back, the four brothers collectively making up a united front. 'You've got one day to win us over, and if you fail to convince any one of us…' Leonhard flicks a finger across his neck. 'Out the doors you go.'

And I realise that despite having worked with merchants, bounty hunters, nobles, and royals from all over the Western Continent, these princes are going to be a wall that will be almost impossible to break.

'Agreed. But if we live up to your oh-so-lofty expectations, then we're going to be working _together_. Both of us have everything on the line for this—your family, our business, and this kingdom—and the only way this is going to work is if we can get along. So if we stay, then you've got to get onboard the teamwork train. No arguments.'

The princes consider, glance at each other, then nod. 'Fair enough,' Prince Leonhard says. 'After all…' He cracks his knuckles, saying, 'If anything, if you survive today, then the rest of the month should be a snap.'

Oh dear. I think I'm going to need a coffee before this one.

Leonhard holds out a hand. 'Shall we go?' he asks, watching my every move and breath.

I watch him. Then I briefly place my hand in his as we step towards the door. 'As you wish, Your Highness. No time like the present.'

Despite everything, despite the stakes and the fragile, crumbling cliff we're walking—reality burns in my head like a marching song. Nothing like this has ever been done before—in royal circles or in the personal protection industry. Things are going to go down here, no matter the outcome.

We fall into rank, walking towards those golden doors. This palace is our parade ground and this procession is a series of contrasts, of royals and soldiers. One chance, for all of us; a million chances, for things to go wrong.

I risk a glance at Prince Leonhard at the same time that he risks a glance at me. Electric blue eyes, reflecting my own cat-like ones framed by tousled hair back at me. We could be a dynamo—if we don't kill each other first.

Professor Heine falls in beside us, keeping step with Leonhard and I. 'The best of luck, Madmoiselle Roux.'

I'm about to thank him, when he adds something under his breath, looking straight ahead. '…I think you're going to need it.'

I pause for a split-second. Simple words, but they're… unnerving. But I don't lose my nerve that easily. 'Thank you—but I don't believe in luck.'

For the briefest moment, a something like a half-smile flickers on his face. 'Then I simply wish you the best.' Then his expression blanks, and he raises an eyebrow slightly. _So you will have nothing to fall back on or blame if you lose?_

My eyes narrow the barest of fractions. _Sir, I'm not going to lose today._

He says nothing. Recognising my unspoken words and nothing more.

I didn't get this far by losing, and I only got this far by being 'fierce.' By being smart, and opinionated, and loud, and by getting my feet stuck in other people's doors—by chasing one person across the Western Continent and tracking them like building an elaborate cat's cradle.

Prince Leonhard and I push the golden doors open with a slam, and even as the sound echoes, I'm already steeling myself for what's to come.

We could do anything. We could shake this kingdom up, we could set this city ablaze, and bring the chandeliers crashing down in a thunderstorm of shards.

This kingdom, this palace, and this family—they're symbols of this world, of this time. Of a change for the better. We can't let them be destroyed. And even if only in a narrow window of time, we could make even more changes for the better, changes that this world _needs_—engraving emblems in gold and splashing words in red paint on the brick walls.

_We could make history._

I reach up to catch the sunlight that streams in crystal-spattered rivers above my head.

_So look out, world._

It's time for a lesson.

_To be continued in Chapter 3: Interview with a Proud Prince…_


	3. Interview with a Proud Prince

**~ Solana ~**

_Solana de la Roux. A lady of Fonseine blood, she is one of the founding members of _Le Chatons de Fleur. _Guard of royals, experienced bounty hunter, skilled with blades and poisons and the art of subtlety…_

And currently power-walking down the halls of Weisburg Palace because this prince walks too d_ fast.

I swear, we barely got out of the sitting room and he's already a mile away.

Also—subtlety, my foot. I'm firing our writer.

'_Prince!_'

Prince Leonhard skids to a stop. He turns around. He places a hand on his hip. '_What?_'

I grimace. Someone find me a loudhailer; I feel as though most of our conversations are going to be conducted at long range. '…If you would be so kind as to slow down, Your Hi—'

'Slow down?' A disbelieving grin spreads across his face, and he points a thumb at his chest. 'Do you even know who you're talking to? I'm Prince Leonhard von Glanzreich; I've taken the first place in the junior track-and-field fifth division three years in a row! _And if you can't keep up with me, then you've got no business being my guard!_'

And the sound barrier shatters.

Prince Leonhard blasts down the corridor; the resulting windstorm swings chandeliers in a violent cacophony of crystals and nearly knocks me off my feet.

I drop into a running stance and streak after him. It is _on_.

I blitz over the carpet and hurtle down the hall, pinging around maids and footmen like a bullet in a house of mirrors. I take a corner so hard and fast that I leave burn marks on the carpet.

A marble staircase rushes up to meet us. It's the same one that we ascended earlier to meet the princes. Time slows, shuttering like a camera flash. I see Leonhard's eyes flick down to the hallway that passes beneath the stairs.

So when he takes the steps, I vault right over the railing—free-falling even faster than he can run—and plummet through a dizzy blur of gilded portraits and art nouveau wallpaper.

I catch his eye and he nearly trips from the shock. Then the world starts spinning again with a crack of shoes on walls and railings and marble, and I block his path with arms outstretched, having made it over an imaginary finish line beneath the shadowed recesses of the underpass.

He reaches past me; I counter it, and we catch each other's moves in a blur of movements, like two children windmilling their arms in a fight_. _Our palms connect with a crack and our fingers lock together. Both of us hiss and snarl with with barely repressed rage.

'_What the—no_ _fair_!' he protests. 'You commoners are all the same and so help me, you're even more infuriating than Heine and you are the _worst_!'

I blink. 'Come again? Who now?'

He pauses. Then says, 'Oh look, there's a cat dancing the pasodoble.'

I whirl around. I blink. 'Eh? Wait, what?'

Too late, I spin back around only to see him sprint past as though running for his life. It only goes to show what a madhouse this place is that I took him seriously.

I shake my head and charge after him, yelling, 'Get back here, Prince!'

He spares a glance over his shoulder—nearly wiping out on the corner—and sticks his tongue out. 'Make me, brat!'

I take the inside, dive past, and spring up beside him. 'Who's the brat, exactly?!'

We blaze down the hallway like two bullets fired from double pistols, snapping at each other all the way.

'Well, you can keep up with my sprint! Not bad, _commoner_!'

'Do you have an inferiority complex?!'

'_What the heck is that supposed to mean?!_'

He pulls ahead, but I pump my legs harder and stay hot on his heels. '_What do you think it means?!'_

'I think it means you're a royal pain in the neck!'

'Leaving aside the irony there—_why are we even running?!_'

'Because we can—oh wait—'

He stops and I smack right into him.

'_Guh!_' Stars spin in my eyes. I barely manage to stay on my feet. 'Ow… my nose…'

He considers our surroundings, then points past me. '…I'm pretty sure my room is back there somewhere.'

I stop rubbing my nose, and stare at him for a moment. 'So in other words, we ran past it.'

'Yeah. Come on.'

I fall into step behind him. The seconds tick by. If I haven't thought of a response to that by now, then I never will. Then a comeback pops into my mouth. 'My,' I say behind one hand. 'I can't believe that a royal could get lost in their own _palace_…'

'I was _not_ lost—I _overshot_ and there is a _difference_!' Leonhard sighs and flicks his bangs out of his eyes. 'I was temporarily unsure of my location, if you want to get really specific.' He smirks, and turns off into a side corridor. 'Impressed with my vocabulary? Such an honours student, I know…'

'How do you ever find time to balance your studies and athletics?'

'It's hard, but I make it work.'

'The pressures of being a young and talented royal…'

'Tell me about it—Ah,' the princesays, and pushes open a pair of towering white doors adorned with gold. 'All right, get in here.'

I sigh and follow him in. 'As you… wish…'

What is this… a grand ballroom? I stand in the doorway, taking my eyes off the prince for a moment to take in the vaulted ceilings, the decor, and the sunlight flooding the room. I should be used to large rooms by now, but these ceilings are something else.

I smooth down my dress and head over to join him. Everything is so elegant and picturesque that I almost don't want to walk into the room and spoil the view. And the sofas almost look like you shouldn't sit on them. I gather my skirts so that I can take a seat as gracefully as possible once the prince has taken his—

Only to take a throw pillow to the face as the prince to sprawls out facedown on the sofa, with complete disregard for furnishings or manners. I raise a hand. Lower the pillow. And spit out a tassel.

I glare at him.

He swivels and sets his feet on the floor, and points at the opposite sofa. 'Sit.'

'…Thank you.' I do as he says.

With a sweeping hiss, the chamber doors are shut.

I rest my elbows on the pillow and bite the tip of my fingernail. Given that this day began with an explosive tête-à-tête and continued with an impromptu race, I can't help but wonder if that was the tip of the iceberg or the dramatic opening act of a play.

I watch the prince, and sit my clipboard on my lap.

While news and gossip and information about the royal families of the Western Continent is hardly scarce on the ground, one can only learn so much by research. But research we did. And as we got closer to the time, we were given documents—primers, as such—by the Von Glanzreichs themselves. The papers mingle with my own notes. Reports, photographs, newspaper clippings, and the like. _Prince Leonhard von Glanzreich, the fourth prince, loved throughout the Western Continent for his beauty and nicknamed the White Lily of Glanzreich._

I glance up. Pretty though he maybe, his countenance is spoilt by the unpleasant look he's sending my way.

I lower my eyes again. A handwritten note appears amidst the papers, one that concerns my prince and one that's given me pause every time I've seen it. One written in a neat, looping font. _Handle with extreme care. _A warning usually given in reference to clients who have suffered past trauma… such as shell-shock or abuse.

I look up. Despite his sweet, doll-like appearance and complexion—he's got a glare that could shatter diamonds and a scowl that would make the Snow Queen jealous. He seems fully capable of taking care of himself. So why that particular warning?

I suppose the only way I'll find out the truth is by getting to know him better. I clear my throat, and cycle through some conversation starters.

_How's your day been going?_

_You look like someone I know… _

_Want to share your deep, dark, traumatic secrets with me? Gents first—_

'Stop staring.'

'Pardon?'

'Stop _staring_. It's _annoying me_,' he says slowly, as though pronouncing it syllable by syllable will help it get through my fluffy hair and into my ears.

'Pardon me, then.' I rest one finger on the clipboard. I purse my lips. 'Forgive my asking, Prince, but… it seems as though you dislike me for some reason?'

He rests one arm on the back of the lounge and scoffs, flicking his hand. 'Well, obviously!'

'Would you care to elaborate?'

'Do I even need to? You'll just be like all the others—we've had countless guards, and without fail they've all failed or disappointed. If I have to do this song and dance one more time then I think I'm going to be sick.' He kicks the heel of his boot against the sofa in rapid beats of punctuation, before ramming a full stop into place with enough force that the upholstery rips.

I make a mental note to avoid those boots in any future altercations.

'And besides—you're a girl, and a commoner, and a bodyguard!' He slams a fist down on the coffee table, positively bristling. 'That's three of my five least favourite things, and if you were carrots or bell peppers as well then I wouldn't be able to stomach even being in the same room as you!' he yells, and there go another two rips in the upholstery.

…D_, I'm going to be hard-pressed to win this one over in the span of a day.

I double-check that I heard all of that correctly, then say, 'Which of those three things is the biggest problem for you, Highness?'

He blinks. '…That you're a girl, by far.'

I pause and give the matter some thought.

While most people are aware of our policies when they hire us, it was obviously beneath these princes' notice to give themselves a heads up about what to expect from their new guards. But I wonder what exactly caused this prince's deep and abiding dislike of girls, however? Could it be a lack of female influences in his life? Or perhaps it could be the opposite, and he has a difficult relationship with the queen mother? Perhaps the issue could even stem from a problem that's romantic in nature. Indeed, perhaps he's been trapped in a royal engagement...

'Your Highness, why—'

'I don't understand girls and therefore I can't trust them.'

And there goes all my theories out the window in smoke.

I raise an eyebrow. 'Your Highness, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about the fact that I'm a girl.'

'You could _leave_,' he says pointedly.

'I shall not. You said we had one day to prove ourselves and I fully intend to make the most of the opportunity.'

He sighs and drags one of the throw pillows onto his lap. He toys with one of the tassels. Is it just me, or does he look… melancholy? 'Have fun trying.' He rubs the gold threads between his fingertips, and the ends fray a little. 'Tutors… bodyguards… commoners… They always leave, and they're all the same.'

A silence descends on the room. And I don't break it, because I don't know what to say.

But the silence is broken anyway by a knock on the door.

'Pardon me, Your Highness!' A maid slips into the room, and delicately places a tea tray on the table. 'I was told to bring refreshments for you and your guest.' She indicates each item on gold-rimmed china plates with dainty fingers, twin corkscrew curls bobbing about her face. 'Here we have Zächertorte—a chocolate cake with apricot jam—and Döbos Torte—a caramel cake with coffee-flavoured cream—as well as a Fonseine treat, madeleines. And we have melanges for both of you, Glanzreich's most popular coffee.'

'Yay, dessert!'

I do a wild double take. Gone is the enraged, proud fourth prince, and here in his place is a boy who looks like he just got a candy store full of puppies for Christmas. Which wouldn't be entirely unrealistic, as it's rumoured that Princess Paolina's mother gave her a dress made entirely out of diamonds for her birthday once. Young royals seem to be a pampered lot…

But to return to the split-personality prince, I whisper to the maid, 'I-Is this real? What… happened?'

I point at the prince, who's currently humming a happy tune that goes along the lines of 'Tor-te, tor-te~! So sweet!'

The maid looks up and laughs. 'Oh, Prince Leonhard is a big fan of desserts. You could call it his defining trait.'

Leonhard dramatically points a fork at her and says, 'My defining trait is fencing. No, wait…' He points to himself and says, 'My defining trait is my face, followed by fencing, then followed by my love of desserts. You were close.'

She smiles and tucks the empty tray under her arm. 'Indeed I was! Enjoy, Prince, Fräulein.'

'A-Ah, thank you.' I turn around to catch her before she goes. 'It looks sumptuous. Could I ask your name?'

'O-Oh, of course—Helene!' She bows, and backs out of the room. 'Please enjoy!

I turn back around to face the prince. I snigger. 'Are you quite serious? Your defining trait is your "pretty face"? One would think you were a princess…'

'I'm not a girl!' He throws up his hands in disgust. 'Do we seriously have to bring my nightwear choices into this! I like what I like, and if it fits, it fits! _Jeez!_'

'You were the one who brought it… up…' An image of him dolled up in some ridiculous piece of nightwear pops into my head, and my lips twitch. You and your client generally end up seeing each other in all manner of dress during an assignment, merely due to living in close quarters. Some get more carried away than others—like Elle, who will probably be able to tell me what colour her prince's drawers are by the end of the month. I wave away the thought in disgust and take up my coffee.

Prince Leonhard already has his plate of Zächertorte in his lap. He sees me take a sip from my melange and says, 'What? _Starting _with coffee?'

'The scent cleanses the palette. So does the taste.' And I just like the taste of coffee, but that's irrelevant.

Prince Leonhard pauses. Then picks up his coffee and breathes in the scent, before quickly putting it down again.

'You don't like coffee, Highness?'

He scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. 'It's too bitter. Licht can make a really good Käiser Melange, but…' The prince grimaces. 'It's not like he can do that anymore…'

I wonder briefly what he's talking about, then cut a wedge from my cake with my fork. It cleaves the gooey, rich caramel, and cuts the coffee cream in fluffy waves. I take a bite, and my eyes widen with pleasure. 'Mm! The bitterness of the coffee balances the sweetness of the caramel so well! And the whipped cream is the perfect touch!'

'I know, right?' The prince's face has a sugar-induced glow to it, and he gestures with his fork between each mouthful. 'The richness of the chocolate, and getting just the right amount of icing, and the build up of flavour between slices…'

We take a moment to appreciate the sugary goodness. I'm fairly certain that if I didn't have a job in Fleur then I wouldn't mind moving here.

'Hey. What's your favourite dessert?' He sounds disinterested, but he does glance at me.

I pause. But it's the first time he's talked to me of his own accord, so I may as well humour him. 'Macarons. They're like little shells with cream, like so.'

'Mm… Ah, like sandwiches?' I nod, and he says, 'We tried those when we were in Fonseine the other month… Ah… the desserts in Fleur were so good…'

'I live in Fleur.'

He stares at me as though I just announced that I hail from Mount Olympus. 'What?'

'I live in Fleur,' I say, and I take great pleasure in over-enunciating it like he did for me. 'Our agency's office is in Fleur. We even have a bakery just down the street.'

'You can have those desserts all the time and whenever you want and you left?! Why the heck did you even leave?!' he protests.

'Because of my contract with Glanzreich?!' And on that note, I recall why we're here. I set down my empty plate. 'For that matter, while that was enjoyable, we are not here to have a tea party. Let us return to business.'

His face falls, and he reluctantly sets his plate back down on the table too. '…Fine.'

Oh great. It seems that he either has an aversion to work, or the positive effects of sugar on his body only last for so long. Either way, I think he's back to his temperamental self. I mask a sigh.

'It is just a simple question-and-answer test—'

'That is not the way to sell me on it! I hate tests!'

'A… pop quiz?'

'Bzzt—wrong answer!'

I pause. Then I close my clipboard and set it on the chair beside me. 'Fine, let us merely have a conversation then, if conversing with commoners is not too far beneath you.'

'You're so far beneath me that I'm inclined to use you as a footstool, but that sounds… doable.' His arms are tightly crossed, but his shoulders lower a fraction.

'As you wish.' Thank goodness I've done this routine so many times that I know it by heart. 'All right, let's begin. Just a few simple questions.' I hold up a finger. 'If someone attacked you, what would you do?'

He fires right back. 'I'd run away.'

'Why is everything about running with you?'

But as the point of this arrangement is to keep these princes alive and well, that's actually a passable answer. I suppose.

But then he fiddles with his bangs. 'Well… maybe. I've been trying to work on that so… I'd probably run, but not run _away_… Gah, I can't explain it.'

For curiosity's sake, I ask, 'And what if you couldn't run away?'

He stares at me. And the silence lasts for a second too long. I flush, and say, 'Never mind. We're getting off track.' I recall the next question, but the prince interrupts my train of thought.

'Was that the right answer?'

I stop. 'There is not a right answer, as such. These questions are all subjective. This is merely a way for us to get to know one another better and to get an idea of how well we'll be able to work together.'

'Then couldn't we talk about something fun?' His eyes are so wide and big that it instantly reminds me of a puppy begging for treats.

'…Unfortunately, we are not here to have fun, Prince. We're here to establish a mutually beneficial relationship. Let us continue.'

'Right…'

'Next: Say there was a problem, and I was there with you. Would you let me handle it, or would you take it into your own hands?'

He frowns. 'What kind of problem?'

'Security breach. Runaway carriage. Pushy members of nobility. Whatever you can think of that constitutes as a problem.'

'I have a completely different idea of problems than you do—mine mainly consist of losing my diary; forgetting to get changed for lessons, or flunking a math test.'

'…Let us perhaps focus on my idea of "problems" for the time being, then. What would you do, let me take care of it, or try to take care of it yourself?'

He stares at me, bewildered. 'How am I meant to know? I don't know anything about you.'

It takes me a while to come up with a reply to that. I'm so floored that he may as well have pushed me to the marble. 'I'm your personal guard. Entrusted with guarding your life and—'

'Not quite yet,' he reminds me.

'Not quite yet, no. But if I can convince you, then it will be my job to guard you from any threat. I _have_ trained for this.'

'Hm…' He crosses his arms behind his head, and sighs. 'I guess if it's your job, then it's your job, right? So I don't care.'

While the answer is not unsatisfactory, I'm not really satisfied. 'Good enough. I merely wish to know if you'll be throwing yourself into danger on a whim.'

He stretches. He looks a little annoyed. 'So bossy.' But then he answers my question. '…I don't know. But I've had enough danger to last me for another couple of years, so I don't think so.' He tilts his head. Glances out the window. 'And… I guess it would be nice to know there was someone there to step in, if needed.'

Without realising it, my fingers have tightened on the edges of my clipboard. What… has this prince gone through to prompt answers like that?

More accurately, what's been happening in this kingdom?

'And lastly… What do you want out of this?'

He blinks. 'What?'

'Who do you want your guard to be? A companion? An assistant? Something else? I'm not merely going to be sitting in the corner like a vase. We're going to be in each other's space for the next month, so we should set up a relationship that suits your needs and tastes.'

'What do I… want… huh.' He bites the tip of one gloved finger, and gives it considera'I guess I'd want it to be someone I'd have fun with.'

_Fun? This again?_

His expression brightens a little, in increments. 'It'll be fun to have some new people in the palace, I guess. And if we were going to be stuck together for a month, then we could do some different things together. You like sweets, and you can run decently, at least. Do you like riding?'

My brow is creased with confusion. 'I'm… passable at it.'

'Hunting?'

'That I can do—I've trained in marksmanship.'

'Soccer?'

'I'm not exactly an athlete, but… it's just kicking a ball around, no?'

He hesitates. Then gives me a smile. 'I guess… This might not be terrible. Maybe.'

I don't want to, but I have to burst his bubble. 'I am sorry, Your Highness. But as I said earlier, we are not here to have fun. We're not playmates. We're an employer and an employee—my task is to guard you, and I can't do that if we're playing games.'

That and I don't _want_ to waste my time playing games. I have better things to do with my time than cater to his ego and childish whims and fancies.

'I see.' He gets up, and walks over to the window. He laughs bitterly. 'I was right, you're all the same.'

I join him. 'I don't follow, Prince.'

'All our guards have failed spectacularly so far. They were the best or the brightest, and some of them did last longer than others. But thing is… they didn't _care_.' A strange expression twists his lips. 'They were here for the pay, or for our father's approval, and not one of them saw us as anything more than a client.' He laughs, a low note. 'Déjà vu.'

'Déjà vu?'

'Guards, tutors, commoners, you name it—they're practically all the same. Look, do what you want. I don't care.' He lowers his voice. 'I just don't see any reason why you won't go the way of all the others.'

I purse my lips. I need to think of something I can say to convince him.

Trust me, I'd be his 'play-mate' if it convinced him to say yes, save but for the fact that friendships and emotions are dangerous in this business. Friendship, attachment, and even romance on the side, however illicit—all of those are like fire. Powerful, but dangerous. And in this world of guards and principals, emotions are like a firecracker in a room full of powder kegs.

There are two types of relationships in the world of the personal protection service. Fake relationships are tolerable. Genuine ones are a death warrant.

And he's genuinely asking me to sign my own.

Then I realise something. 'Prince, just now you said, 'practically.' Was there an exception to the rule?'

He starts. Then considers. '…You could say that.' And he smiles a little, fingering the bangs that frame his face. 'We had all the royal tutors at the palace run the gauntlet for years. That's why I was saying "déjà vu". And then we found Heine—someone who actually cared about us. He proved that not all tutors had to be the same.'

Leonhard opens the window and leans out. The breeze ruffles our hair. I stare out at the view, at the skyline of Glanzreich.

'Prince,' I say. 'I do not merely say what I say for the sake of it. Forming friendly attachments and relationships which have no bearing on our work can put our clients in danger. It complicates things no end.'

'You're just saying that because you don't like getting close to people.'

I look at him. Did I hear him right?

'What?'

'Am I wrong?'

…What absolutely kills me is that he isn't.

It's not merely my work that's taught me to keep my distance from people. It's that I taught myself again and again over the years, refreshing an old, painful lesson. The lesson that emotional connections are dangerous. I'm a girl made of burning ice, clothed in skin, and like the Snow Queen, I keep everyone away. Yet despite frustrating and ticking people off over the years, it's never been a… real problem before.

Not all bodyguards hold themselves to the strict standards that I do. But as history, experience, and heartbroken bones at the bottom of wells will testify—those who don't very rarely survive.

'You could be the best in the world,' Leonhard murmurs. 'But if your heart's not in it, then what's the point?'

'One's heart and one's feelings compromise situations, Prince.'

He turns to me and presses a hand to his chest, over his heart. 'Yet how can you do anything well if you don't even care about what you're trying to do?'

'Feelings and caring are different—'

'Are they?'

_Are they?_

Because when you care, you feel—even if those emotions are as unsavoury as anger and revenge.

I chew the edge of my lip. Then speak. 'You say that this Heine of yours changed your mind about tutors?'

He nods, a questioning tilt to his mouth.

I splay my fingers over my chest. 'Then let the Chatons and me change your mind about bodyguards. Give us a chance, and I will endeavour to live up to your expectations.'

'And what makes you think you'll be different, _Solana?_'

My teeth nick my lip. _Because I'll do whatever it takes to achieve my goals—even facing my own heart. After all how hard can it be?_

'Because I believe that the Chatons care. And if your concern is that we are emotionally invested in this, then I will devote myself to living up to that request.'

'Heh.' He smirks, crossing one arm over the other. 'And you think you've got it in you to keep up with us? No random bodyguard or tutor can just waltz into this place. If you want to stay here, then you've got to be something _more _than that. You've got to be something special.'

'Well, I'm not just any random bodyguard.'

'So tell me about yourself and prove it.' That smile is dancing over his face like sunlight now, a crooked lilt that etches a dimple in his cheek. 'Three things.'

I unfold three fingers. Three things. I'm one thing and one thing alone—a bodyguard. But I can't merely be a bodyguard now.

This kingdom is on another level.

I have to be _me_. And I've never known who I was.

One finger. 'I like macarons.'

Two fingers. 'I know parkour.'

Three fingers. 'I'm looking for someone in Glanzreich.'

His eyebrows lift. 'Who?'

'You've had your three questions already, Your Highness.'

'Heh.' Leonhard slips his hands in his pockets and walks off, still smiling. 'Look at that, I guess you're a real person after all.'

'Of course I'm a real person.' I fluff my hair and poke my cheek, demonstrating my tangible qualities.

'Well, I couldn't tell right away. You were like some little bodyguard doll.'

I take my clipboard from the couch, and slowly open it. 'That should be the extent of your interview, Prince. What is your verdict?'

'Hm?'

'You were the one who challenged us all to prove our worth within the day, after all. Was that to your satisfaction?'

He considers. The ticking of the clock seems unnecessarily loud, as well as the ticking of my heartbeat.

'Or do you require me to jump through flaming hoops and shoot a fly from twenty paces as well?'

He laughs, and snatches my clipboard from my hands. 'That sounds like fun, but we've got to save some stuff for later, right?'

'Give that back!'

We grapple over it in the air, only to pull it open between us. Leonhard blinks, his eyes flicking left and right over the notes and newspaper clippings, and photographs. And his eyes linger on the handwritten note.

I expect him to pull back. To yell. To have a break-down. Or a dozen other things, because I have no idea what that note means to him—or what it means at all.

But he merely scoffs. A slightly disbelieving sound, and he closes the clipboard with a half-smile. 'I guess that's another thing. I want this to work for my brothers. So really, that's all I care about. I want someone who will care about them, not about their salary.'

'My interests lie only in completing my work satisfactorily, Highness. So that should be no problem.'

Because while I do want this to work out for the Chatons as one of the biggest career opportunities we've had to date… my interests do lie elsewhere.

In finding someone in Glanzreich.

Leonhard flicks through the papers, then pulls out a sheet of paper. '"Client signs here?" Is this where I'd kind of vote "yes" or "no" or whatever?'

My heart skips a beat and rattles with nerves. I know that this is the tipping point. He'll either say yes or no, and if he says no, it's going to be a one-way slide down a slope of desperate efforts to convince him to change his mind before the day is out. And that may not work out in my favour.

'Yes.' Then it clicks, and I take a pencil, scrawling on the page. 'That's where the "client" would sign.' I scratch out the word 'client,' and pencil different words in over top. 'Prince Leonhard, however, would sign here.'

How is it that such a haughty prince can have such a nice smile?

'All right, give me that.'

He takes a seat on the sofa, elegantly crossing one leg over the other and dipping a fountain pen int the inkwell that sits on the table.

I'm frozen, unable to move, watching… as he signs his name. And hands the piece of paper back. 'Well? Take it.'

I did it. I got the fourth prince's signature.

'Thank you, Prince. I look forward to working with you.'

I rise from my curtsey, and looking at him, I can't help but wonder if maybe I was wrong, if his brash demeanour was merely a front to shelter a sweet personality—

'You're staring again. And don't get all excited.' He tosses his head and gives me a filthy glare. 'Just because I decided to humour you doesn't mean that I _like_ you, you _peasant_.'

Strike that, his arrogance is taller than the yet-to-be-constructed Eiffel Tower. I can feel a vein twitching in my jaw, and my clipboard creaks alarmingly under my fingers. 'Well, Prince, I have a feeling we're going to get along splendidly.'

'Don't give me that. And don't hurry to unpack, either. You better start praying that your friends can win my brothers over, because you just got _lucky_, got it?'

_Sweet personality my foot…_

'Good day, Prince. I'm going to make further arrangements regarding our situations and setup in the palace, so I will rejoin you later on.'

He flicks his hand in a wave. 'Whatever.'

And I step out the doors, two footmen closing them with a bang behind me.

I set off down the hall. I walk quickly over the carpet, through a glittering array of lights.

I thought that I'd seen it all in my time working all over the Western Continent. But these princes don't want the best or most skilled or prettiest guards—they want guards they can trust and guards that are willing to go beyond the call of duty.

I exhale a breath with the slightest of smiles, cracking my knuckles as I walk.

So beyond the call of duty I will go—likely chasing Prince Leonhard around the kingdom at breakneck speeds.

_To be continued in Chapter 4: Interview with a Braniac Prince…_


End file.
